


Unto the High Place

by gritkitty



Category: Kings
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritkitty/pseuds/gritkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years before Goliath was defeated, King Silas built the tallest building in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unto the High Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [persephone_flees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_flees/gifts).



> My story was improved by most excellent beta readers, and I thank them.

Under the humid sky of late summer, the granite of the King's tower exuded a clammy heat. King Silas laid his palm against the gray stone and turned his face up, looking for the damage done to the upper stories; all he saw was a dirty web of scaffolding suspended by cranes.

James Cooper, the King's primary aide, hurried up with a clipboard. He wore a hardhat, as did everyone except the King, and the direction of his gaze betrayed concern for the King's safety, but his expression said he dared not mention it.

"What news of my tower?" said Silas.

James flipped pages on the clipboard. "No structural damage was done, but the entire penthouse is no longer fit for use. Many of the internal walls have been destroyed, and smoke and fire and water damage have ruined everything else."

Anger like a storm weighed his brow. "Who is responsible?"

"No claims have yet been made. And sir, the press -- "

"Carmel separatists," interrupted General Abner as he approached.

"You know this for certain?" said Silas.

"I will give you confirmation before the day is through."

"Then give me the heads of their leaders." Silas gestured upward. "And get more workers up there now."

"I'm not sure how many more we can find," said James. "It's Unification Day tomorrow. Most of the city has already left to celebrate in the countryside."

"Then you had better start looking."

"The terrorists," said General Abner. "Do you want them eliminated publicly?"

Silas gestured wide, his voice rising. "I want them hanged right here."

"In that case I will not bring you their heads."

Silas gave the general a pointed look. "Don't sound so disappointed."

The general smiled tightly and bowed his head. "Where shall I bring them?"

"Bring them right here to the city jail. They will be made an example to any who would insult me so. Call me when you have them. I will work out of my offices in the mansion."

"Sir," James said, "the press. They want a statement."

"Let them wait." Silas turned. "No, belay that. I will speak to them." He led his general, his aides and bodyguards to the steps of the tower, climbing until he was well above the crowd. At his nod, the troops holding back the crowd allowed the people to gather at the foot of the stairs. Flashbulbs lit the King like lightning.

"The crowning jewel of Shiloh has been attacked," said Silas. His voice rose strong over the crowd, amplified by deliberate design of the entrance to the building, penetrating and loud enough to be heard by everyone. "Terrorists and cowards who lack vision have struck at the most visible symbol of our country, and therefore they have struck at the very heart of Gilboa." Silas raised his hands. "It was an impotent gesture, for their attempt has failed, and repair of the damage is begun even now. But there will be no forgiveness of this transgression, for they chose to strike at their own people, you, the citizens of this great city, of this great nation. I, as your King, will not let the insult pass. Punishment will come swiftly."

Repair efforts were thwarted throughout the day, however, and by the early evening Silas raged around his office at the mansion, verbally savaging his staff of aides. Queen Rose found it necessary to change the art on the wall outside her husband's office, and through the open door she heard all. When he fired James, Rose gave up her pretenses and entered the room. She was aware that Silas disliked the high-necked dress she wore, but she was also confident in her poise and ability to distract Silas from his rage. "I doubt repairs will go faster if you cripple your management."

"He underestimated the damage. Construction has been put behind by a year!"

"And so you dedicate the building in five years, not four." Rose tilted her head. "A delay is not without merit. The dedication could be held on the 25th anniversary of Unification Day. People like such symbols."

Silas ignored her. "Others can take his place. John, John Boyden. He's the cousin of the guard on the gate. The fat one."

"You hardly know him." Rose looked down and away. "You should consider Jack, or even Michelle."

The names of his children captured his attention. "They are too young; Jack lets himself be distracted by his parties and his women, and Michelle has enough on her plate. No," he stared at the family portrait on the wall. "Thomasina takes care of the important things. I need only someone who can make a decision without hand-holding. John -- remember? -- he is the one who led the engineers during the '06 flood. I should have promoted him then. He can make things happen."

"No one can make things happen overnight," said Rose.

Silas interjected, "I can."

"And tomorrow is indeed Unification Day. By your own decree, it is a day of celebration, and no business is open."

"Then I rescind my edict. I want every worker in the city up there." He pointed to the wall opposite the window; that was west, where the tower cut the skyline. He did not need to see it to know where it rose higher than any structure. "I want the outward damage erased, now. Raise some new windows, hammer a few nails, paint over the marks of smoke."

"You are the King," said Rose. "You can do whatever you want."

"Hanging is too good for them. I changed my mind; I do want the heads of the cowards who did this." Silas ripped back the curtain. Only blank night was there. "Nothing stands so erect and proud in the entire world. The King's tower is mine, and I will not have it insulted in any way."

*

Court was held in the same building where Silas had accepted the ungracious surrender of Vesper Abedon. It was a blocky structure made of concrete, an unlovely reminder of an old war amid the new construction and ambitious architecture from the last twenty years. The court recorder had written Silas's words about his court a dozen years ago, and he silently reread them now:

"It has been appropriate to hold court here, where I forged Gilboa and brought about peace for all, but I admit this place is also a reminder of those dark years of war. Around us rises a new city, modern and beautiful, and it is time now for the court to reflect the future of Gilboa, and not its past.

"Today I ordain a building be erected across the square from this very room. It will be a tower worthy of Shiloh, it will be worthy of Gilboa, and it will be taller than any building in any of the nations of the world. There, looking out over the city, I will hold court, as I lead our great nation into a shining future.

"The best architects in the land will draft a design, and the most skilled craftsmen and artisans will build it. It will be the jewel of Shiloh, just as Shiloh will be the jewel of Gilboa. On the day its doors open, that is the day I will designate Shiloh the capital of Gilboa."

The herald announced the King, and everyone stood. The court reporter opened a fresh page to record the day's events as the King strode to his seat. The Queen followed, and she demurred to her own place in the gallery.

"Tell me what I want to hear," said Silas as he sat down. The rest of the room lowered themselves into their seats gingerly. The King's mood was foul and naked on his face.

The construction manager stood, a puppyish man, falling over himself to explain why repairs were being made at a snail's pace, for what reasons construction was grinding to a halt, and how they could get back on track and consider this an opportunity to improve the design of the internal walls, the placement of lights and electrical conduit, the number of bathrooms and windows and --

"Do not bore me with the details!"

Rose stood. "Details are not trivial." She walked down to stand in front of the desk. The construction manager visibly wilted with relief as he made way for the Queen. "Politics are not my interest, but supporting the image of this monarchy is my primary happiness, and in this arena, it is in the details that all things matter."

"Your happiness can wait. First it must be demonstrated to the people -- to my people -- that terrorism will not hinder my plans. To that end I will have both swift justice for the perpetrators and the resumption of construction on the tower." Silas looked from Rose to the gallery. "This great edifice and all of Shiloh is to be built for the glory of God. God himself showed me a vision of what was meant to be, even as he laid this task on my shoulders. Hard work, yes, and no easy feat; but it was mine to do, and it remains my labor. I saw it then as a blessing, brought to me on a crown of butterflies, and I have not forgotten that it is still a blessing. I will not forsake His call, and I will not suffer disrespect done to His city.

"General, do you have an update?"

"Sir." General Abner laid a single sheet of paper in front of Silas, who nodded but said nothing.

"I have your report," Silas glanced up at James, who had been saved from unemployment because the King's choice for the job was leading a patrol of the border between Gilboa and the South Territories. Everyone in the gallery could see Silas's displeasure. To Rose he said, "I will take under advisement what you said, but I lack sufficient vision." He stood, and everyone scrambled to their feet. "I am going on pilgrimage. May I find the divine guidance to make perfect this monument to God's glory."

*

The heavy heat of summer was moderated under the wild trees east of Shiloh. Mortal men prayed for such kindness from above; when Silas asked for bounty from God, God sent the lightning storm to bring rain and fertility to the ground beneath his feet. On pilgrimage Silas asked for nothing but the simple pleasures of a man: hearth, home, and family uncomplicated by the rule of country and heartbreak of a political dynasty. He would leave his car with its sapphire necklace hidden in the glove box: tribute purchased secretly and hidden away until needed. Only when he closed the car door could he leave behind his life as King and receive the peace he sought.

Helen greeted him as she always did, emerging from the house as soon as she heard his car on the gravel driveway and kissing him soundly. She drew him into the quiet home they shared too infrequently, and fed him meat pie, beer, and salad from her garden.

After, Silas pushed back from the table and carried his own plate to the sink. "Leave them for later," he said. Together they went to the bedroom.

"I am getting to be an old man," Silas said, much later; he was renewed from sleeping and was now sitting up, reading, "mortal, even. Either that or I am already dead because this house, this place on its scrap of land is paradise to me."

"And what is wrong with being a mortal man?" said Helen. She took his book and laid it aside, and then knelt over his lap. Her hair fell forward, two dark wings that made a small space for their faces. "Why do you think the gods once meddled so often in the affairs of men? They wanted what only we mortals could feel." She touched her lips to his and smiled against them.

"Old gods," Silas smiled back at her and gently shook his head, "from ancient times. They mean nothing to me. I am God's chosen."

"God may have chosen you to be king, but I choose the man you are, right now, here, in my bed." Helen lowered herself into his lap, and wrapped her legs about his waist, and her mouth opened to his.

"So sweet," he said. "I buy your happiness with nothing. No ambergris and myrrh in a diamond bottle."

"Why would I want something so extravagant and useless? Give me a harvest of potatoes if you want to give me something useful. Build me a strong fence for my horse." Helen rolled her hips as if riding, and Silas's smile faded even as his eyes narrowed; his desire looked more like anger. Helen knew the difference. She leaned close again and traced his lips with the tip of her tongue. When she raised her eyes to his, he was intent, studying her as if she had been given to him on the first day in Eden. She whispered, "I need nothing from you, but if you wanted to grant me a gift without measure, then give me a child."

*

Upon his return, there were no traitors for Silas to punish. Thomasina had joined him in his car in front of the courthouse and handed him the report before anything else. He pounded the dashboard, three hard impacts that rattled something loose inside the console.

"Shall I send the car to the mechanic before returning it to the car pool?"

"Do not try to deflect me," he said. "That is Rose's job. I want truth and nothing but from you."

"There is a promising lead in Ekron, by the border, but we cannot be certain of anything until the perpetrators are in custody."

"Find them. Find them now."

"Shall I call court?"

"No. Bring me to Gehenna."

Thomasina drove Silas to the prison. Silas knew she would be waiting for him when he returned from a different pilgrimage, and so he spared no backward glance as he faced the great prison doors. He had heard it said that looking forward was a mark of a good king.

Once through many locked gates, deep underground, Silas watched his predecessor through the barred window of his cell door: Vesper Abedon, though no one ever referred to him by his first name. Abedon crouched over an open book, his hand moving minutely across the page. He did not look like the Bloody King of Carmel. He muttered to himself, an indistinct rattle of words.

Silas opened the door. Abedon looked up and said, "You."

"Yes, me." Silas shut the door behind him and sat across the table.

Abedon bowed his head. "You are most likely another delusion. Whimsy, what an odd word for this. You would think a better word existed. It must. Whimsy, fantasy, dream. Translation is an art, you know."

"You never built anything," Silas said.

"This morning I remembered a word I had heard once in my childhood, and suddenly an entire passage had meaning," he replied.

Silas flicked a glance at the close handwriting that filled the pages of Abedon's book. There was no margin; the writing went to the edge of the paper. "This land was nothing, and now it is a shining monument dedicated to God, built by my command."

"I built armies."

"Anyone can build an army."

Abedon looked up and touched the tip of his pen to his smiling mouth. "No, not everyone. I could, and you could, and see where that led us."

"To prosperity for your people, now that they are mine and united under the flag of Gilboa. Tell me again how a king can have no happiness."

"It was a beautiful epiphany. Radiant. A humble, calm word, but the rediscovery of it lit up the room like a shower of gold. Radiant."

"I have just returned from paradise on Earth. I am happy there: no demands but those asked of any man. It is like a taste of heaven."

"It is a lie." Among more mutterings about translations, Abedon said, "If you are beginning to see paradise now, maybe it is but a taste of things to come. Death, most likely, which is demanded from every other man."

"No. Eden on Earth," said Silas.

"Or hell in the depths, waiting. You accept what your god gives you, but this patch of heaven is something you took for yourself, isn't it. A woman, a soft bed? No signs, no divine voice whispering in your ear -- "

"God does not whisper to me. He shouts his favor to me from high above." Silas raised his arms and eyes to the cold, stone ceiling.

Abedon's gaze sharpened, and for a moment he was more in the moment than sunk in his own purgatory. "You do that well. Your talent for ridiculous theatrics continues to serve you, I am sure. Ah, if only I had such a flair for the dramatic."

"Oh, but you did. Cruelty has its own theater."

Abedon held up his pen like a wand. "I held it in my grasp, once. Dominion over my people. The authority to do anything. Now I have words in the dark, and you have the very ear of your god. What is it that he tells you? Good advice, I am sure, or our positions would be reversed -- though not entirely. If I put you underground, there would be no need for a cell or guards."

"Yes, it was very good advice," said Silas. "He told me to build, and I built such a city that people from all corners of Gilboa united to live within its …"

Silas did not continue, and Abedon said, "Then why are you here, in the dark, listening to me?"

"I need reminding every so often that I -- that God -- was right, and you were wrong."

"Did he tell you to take your small pleasures, Silas? Did he tell you to remember that they will never last?" Abedon bent his head to his task once more. "Because happiness will not last; not for a king."

"He said not one word about my happiness," said Silas. "He does not need to."

*

Thomasina held a cell phone to her ear when Silas returned squinting in the light. He raised an eyebrow at her, but waited until she finished her call. "They have been arrested, sir."

Silas clapped his hands. "Ha! No happiness, he said. No happiness, not for a king, but I am not a king -- I am the King. Assemble the court and have them brought there."

"Would you like a suit waiting, sir?"

"No suit. I need no trappings for this."

Silas strode quickly into court, again forcing people to scramble to their feet. Rose was there, lovely and icy, standing with her brother. Their heads had been together; he had seen it before they straightened just as he entered. They had followed the regent of a different territory before accepting his leadership as their own, but now they were part of his dynasty. Silas remained standing, forcing everyone else to remain on their feet.

"Bring the accused."

Four men and a woman were brought before the King's table. They were disheveled and filthy, reeking of fear, yet defiant. "Read the evidence," said Silas, and the General himself held a paper but did not read from it, just announced the facts of their crime.

"What is your plea?"

The shortest man raised his head and shouted, "I am a soldier of Carmel! I am a prisoner of war. I owe you nothing."

"Do you deny this charge?"

"I deny nothing. I am a citizen of Carmel, and I will not live under the rule of Gilboa."

"Very well." Silas drew a gun from inside his jacket and shot the man in the chest. Everyone in the gallery started; some cried out in surprise.

The man swayed back, his heart's blood spreading wide on his shirt as it pumped its last. He mouthed some words with no breath, his face resolved, and then he fell.

Silas turned to the next man. "What about you? Do you wish to deny your King?"

"I --" This man was tall enough to look Silas in the eye. There was fear on his face, but also conviction. Survival won over both, and he said, "You are my king, and I throw myself on your mercy."

Silas turned to hold the gaze of the other three. "Does this man speak for you?" They nodded. "Then kneel, all of you. You have defiled a monument raised to God's glory and tried to ruin it with your refusal to accept peace in the unity of Gilboa.

"Kiss the ground before me, swear fealty to me, and ask for my forgiveness, which is forgiveness from God himself."

The prisoners bowed, their lips touching the floor at Silas's feet.

"Nothing will undermine the integrity of Gilboa," said Silas. He turned to the court reporter. "As I have stopped the actions of the misguided, and reinforced the strength in unity that is Gilboa's, let it be known that the King's tower will forever be known as Unity Hall."

*

Rose's lips tightened when she opened the jeweler's box, and then she smiled. "It is lovely. Is this in celebration for the swift resumption of Unity Tower's construction? Ah, you picked well that name. Help me put this on."

Silas had put her off to shower and change after he passed judgment at court. In the past, he had accepted Rose's embrace no matter his condition: when he was dripping with blood from war, when he was rank with sweat from holding continuous court for days. After a pilgrimage, he did not. Tonight Rose had anticipated his gift of jewelry, and wore attire suitable for earrings, bracelet, or necklace.

"I cannot have you walking around without adornment. You are the Queen, and you deserve the stars strewn at your feet." He placed the necklace around her neck, raising gooseflesh under the cold blue gems.

"I believe you could, if you wanted to. Pluck the stars from the sky." She brushed with her fingertips the necklace where it lay on her chest. "I thank you."

"You are welcome." Silas bowed, and then turned to his desk and picked up his glass of scotch.

"Don't think you can fool me," said Rose. "You can dissemble before the entire country, but you cannot hide your misery from me."

"Me? Miserable?"

"You are miserable when there is no one or nothing to fight. Look at you, ambling around the mansion and firing the help, as if that would satisfy you." Rose tidied the desk, clearing away papers and pens. She picked up the dagger he used as a letter opener and hesitated before she placed it on the blotter and closed the drawer. "Waiting for an uprising or raiders on our south border or pirates to attack Port Prosperity accomplishes nothing. Get out and do something. There remain many tasks to be finished, if Shiloh is to be the shining capital of your vision."

"I razed the land of enemies; I pledged my troth to God, I ordered the building of this city. All that remains is house keeping. Window dressing. You have the patience for the trivial details." Silas drew back the curtain and looked out on a long, manicured lawn. "I carved this city from the bones and blood of my armies and my enemies, soaked into the dirt and clay. My own blood, spilled and mingled with theirs." He turned, and the slicing sunlight threw into relief the experience and wear on his face: beautiful to his wife, loved and feared by his children, idolized by his subjects.

"Yes, yes, the great sacrifices you have made --"

"More than any, and freely given."

"That is exactly my point. War is behind you, and now it is time for you to build and enjoy the rewards of your efforts. You deserve happiness." Rose joined him at the window and clutched the décolletage of her dress, her fingers pressing against the fullness of her breast. "Take it by force, if you must."

His eyes tracked her hand's slow pull that revealed scant slivers of her flesh from beneath the perfectly tailored silk of her dress. He hooked his finger over hers and pulled her closer. Perfume as expensive as a new car rose from her warm neck. He nuzzled her jaw and sniffed behind her naked earlobe. "Someone has good taste in the finer things."

"You do," said Rose. "You bought it for me."

"Yes."

"After your last pilgrimage."

Silas rested his cheek on Rose's hair and opened his eyes. "It was to your liking."

"It seems to please you as well." Rose stroked his hair and trailed her fingertips down his neck and across the breadth of his shoulder.

"Well enough," he said, and drew her into a rough embrace, bending her head back. He did not kiss her, but rubbed his lips against the great vein in her neck. With one hand he pulled her hair from its pins, dropping them, some with stands attached. Rose clutched with her petal pink nails at his shoulders and bared her throat further, her breath quickening between her parted lips.

Silas cupped her buttocks and lifted her so she sat on the window ledge. He did not have to part her knees; they fell open, pushing her skirt high on her thighs. Silas slid the silk higher, and he fumbled with the fastener of her right stocking, ripping it when he lost patience. He brushed the stocking down, and molded his palm to the soft skin of her inner thigh, too rough to be a caress.

Rose worked cleverly at his belt, exposing his member, already risen and ready. Silas ripped her underwear, hiked her close, and fucked her. Rose moaned her praises for him as she braced herself against the window frame with one hand, and with the other ripped the curtain loose. They both knew that tomorrow, no wings of sweat from Rose's shoulders would smear the window. The wood of the sill would be waxed to a high shine, and the curtain would be ironed into respectability, restrained again with a great, tasseled rope.

Silas buried his face in her fragrant bosom, but then he lifted his eyes enough to look out the window, which faced away from the city's center and gave him a well-crafted view. The shaved lawn. The sculpted hedges and trees. A perfect stone wall. Beyond them all wound the river, and the lowering sky drew his eye to a dark line on the horizon that was, he knew, a far wilderness of trees.

*


End file.
